


may as well have had 'kick me' fastened on your sleeve

by likecharity



Category: British Comedy RPF
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Bondage, Crying, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub, F/M, Face Slapping, Face-Sitting, Femdom, Hair-pulling, Kink Discovery, Kink Exploration, Light Bondage, Older Woman/Younger Man, Overstimulation, Post-Orgasm Torture, Punishment, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 19:53:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18395249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likecharity/pseuds/likecharity
Summary: "Problem?" Victoria asks him. She's so no-nonsense, and James is—well, James isallnonsense, so surely this isn't going to work, but he so badly wants it to."Nope," he says loudly, and laughs, stupid and awkward and for no real reason."Excellent," she says. Then, apropos of nothing, she adds, "Get on your knees," and it's not a suggestion, so James just—does, without even really hesitating, which is maybe weird.





	may as well have had 'kick me' fastened on your sleeve

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Britcom Anon Meme. Title from 'All the Way to Reno' by R.E.M.
> 
> ([Victoria](https://twitter.com/VictoriaCoren/status/1101278995960729601) and [David](https://twitter.com/RealDMitchell/status/1101279980540100609) really did go and see James's show!)

It would be an understatement to say that James is startled when he steps out of his dressing room after the gig and almost walks directly into Victoria Coren Mitchell. He's more like—alarmed. Flabbergasted? Bewildered. Something like that. It probably shouldn't be as much of a shock as it is, because he did know that she and David were in the audience, but he certainly wasn't expecting them to come and wait for him afterwards, and even if he had been, he would've assumed they were a package deal. David is conspicuous in his absence.

"Hello," she says warmly, as if he hasn't just almost tripped over his own shoelaces at the sight of her. "Wonderful show."

"Oh," he says, "yes. I mean, thank you."

She smiles, and then looks him up and down in a very deliberate, sleazy sort of way that makes James feel _naked_. And also, very confused.

"How far away do you live?" she asks him.

"Not far," says James, though it's also not exactly near. "Uh, why?"

"Because I'd like you to take me home with you," says Victoria, as if this is a perfectly normal thing for her to say. 

James stares at her for a while waiting for some elaboration, but she does not offer any, and he doesn't really feel like he can question her. In general, he struggles with questioning her. (Except when it comes to her food preferences. It's been a couple of weeks since they recorded her episode of Off Menu and he's still not sure he's recovered from some of her choices.) She has this way about her that just puts him on edge, makes him feel all uneasy and flustered. He always just really, really wants her to like him, and he's never sure if she actually does. He can never read her right; it always feels sort of like she's privately judging him in some way and maybe that should be unpleasant but somehow it's not. It just makes him want to try harder.

She's still smiling enigmatically and waiting for an answer, and it feels like all James can do is say—

"Okay. Sure? Yes. All right."

Which is perhaps more affirmatives than strictly necessary; he doesn't want to seem over-eager, but her smile widens. James might be imagining things, but now it seems almost _predatory_. "Fantastic," she says, and offers an arm for him to take.

He hopes that things will become clearer on the Uber ride to his flat, but they do not. Victoria is chatty, but she mainly just wants to discuss his show—jokes she found particularly unique, nuances she particularly appreciated, that sort of thing. Which is very flattering and everything but does nothing to explain why they're in an Uber together. Unless she's become such a fan of him in the last hour or so that she wants to discuss his work in depth over a cup of tea? It seems unlikely but the only alternative he can think of is so much _more_ unlikely that he honestly doesn't know what to think.

Once they step into James's flat she finally clears things up, by way of slamming him against the door and pressing her mouth against his. James is too shocked to do much of anything and just sort of allows himself to be held still and kissed, for a few astonished seconds.

"Oh," she says when she pulls away, looking deeply unimpressed. She also seems to shrink several inches, and James realises she must have had to go up on tiptoe to reach his mouth. He feels like he's realising for the first time how small she is, which is ridiculous because he has stood next to her multiple times and it's not exactly the sort of thing you can miss. "Is that how you kiss?" she asks. "I may have made a mistake."

"Nonono," says James hastily, "I was just—startled. I'm better than that normally. Try me again, please."

In the back of his mind something is yelling the word _married!!!_ at him, high-pitched and frantic, but even though he can hear it loud and clear it doesn't seem to be registering. Weird.

Victoria looks doubtful, but shrugs. "Well, I suppose since I'm here," she says, and raises herself back up, and this time James actually kisses back, enthusiastic, because—well, of course he wants to kiss her, she's beautiful and she's scary-smart and she's so _assertive_ and she makes James feel like his skin doesn't fit quite right but in a weirdly wonderful way.

"Better," she says this time. "Yes, I think this was the right decision after all." She cocks her head to one side and studies him for a moment. "You're sort of sweet, I think. I can't really tell."

And now, because James needs to not be a terrible person, he really has to ask—

"Is David, er—" 

"Yes, don't fret, he's fully aware of where I am and what I'm doing," Victoria interrupts him impatiently, waving a dismissive hand. "Occasionally I get a hankering to play with some skinny young thing and he generally tends to indulge such whims. So long as he approves of the thing in question, of course."

She gives him the once-over again and it's all so objectifying, and _rude_ , she's calling him a _thing_ , and James can't explain why but it's absolutely thrilling. He thinks about Victoria and David sitting in the audience tonight, watching him and discussing him, talking about him like he's a—a piece of meat, David agreeing to make himself scarce while Victoria pounces. It's too much.

"Problem?" Victoria asks him. She's so no-nonsense, and James is—well, James is _all_ nonsense, so surely this isn't going to work, but he so badly wants it to. 

"Nope," he says loudly, and laughs, stupid and awkward and for no real reason.

"Excellent," she says. Then, apropos of nothing, she adds, "Get on your knees," and it's not a suggestion, so James just—does, without even really hesitating, which is maybe weird. No, it's definitely weird, to be on his knees in his hallway in front of this older married woman he doesn't even know that well, simply because she told him to. And yet, it doesn't feel anywhere near as weird as it _should_. It feels good, actually. It feels right. What's that about?

"Yes, I thought so," says Victoria inexplicably, tapping a fingertip against her lips and looking sort of smug. "Good."

James looks up at her, and that feels good too, having her looking down at him with that self-satisfied look on her face. 

"Uh..." he says, because she's just looking at him and he doesn't know what's happening and it's starting to make him feel sort of prickly all over.

"Shush," is her response, and she reaches out to rake her fingers through his hair, tugging gently to pull his head back. Tingles travel all the way down his spine as it straightens just a touch. Then she bends over slightly and puts her other hand on his throat, and—well— _that's_ out of left field, but it's also utterly electrifying. James feels a jolt of excitement strike him, sharp and unexpected, as she presses her fingers gently-but-firmly into the soft, vulnerable skin at either side of his neck. For a second he panics that she might actually be choking him, and then he realises he's just holding his breath, and lets out a shaky sigh.

"Good," she says again, and it feels like she's directing it at him, like she's saying _he's_ good. He doesn't know why she would be saying this, but it feels nice. Then she lets go of him, which feels less nice. "All right, up you get. Where's your bedroom?"

" _Uh_ ," says James, continually taken aback by her directness. He clumsily stumbles to his feet. "In here."

He leads her through, waving his hands at the interior of the room in general, aware that it's not in any way impressive. It's actually rather a mess and he wishes he'd tidied things up a bit before he left earlier but how was he supposed to know something like _this_ was going to happen? He's not even sure that he knows it's happening now, when he's right in the midst of it.

"What's your safeword?" asks Victoria, and James's brain sort of—stutters. _Safewords_. That's for like, serious kinky shit, isn't it? He wasn't expecting this. Although—the kneeling, her putting her hand on his neck like that, that wasn't exactly standard.

"Can it be 'no'?" he asks when he realises she's waiting for an answer and he's got absolutely no idea what a believable safeword might be.

"Well, I suppose so," she says, as if this response has taken her by surprise. "Unless you'd like the option to say things like 'no' and 'stop' and have me ignore you."

James gulps, because that's— _that's_. That's what a safeword is _for_ , essentially, he realises now, in a way he maybe never fully realised before. And now he's imagining Victoria just doing whatever she wants with him and paying no mind to his protests and he's not sure how he feels about that thought but there's certainly some kind of a reaction happening. Oh god, what's wrong with him?

"How about the traffic light system?" Victoria suggests.

James flounders. "The, er...?"

"You're familiar with traffic lights."

"Yes!" says James enthusiastically, glad there's something he can answer confidently.

"Well," says Victoria slowly, "green means you're enjoying yourself, yellow means you want me to go easy, and red means stop."

"Right," says James, nodding vigorously. 

"So what colour are you right now?"

"Uh," says James, looking down at his outfit, "mainly maroon?"

Victoria narrows her eyes at him. He laughs to signify that this is a joke, but she continues to frown. "You probably shouldn't joke about this sort of thing," she says, as if James should already know this, and it makes him feel like he's being scolded, but it's not—a _bad_ feeling, exactly. In fact he kind of wants to keep doing things wrong if it means she's going to talk to him in that tone. "And maroon is in the red family, so unless you want me getting confused and thinking you want to stop—"

"No!" says James hurriedly. "No, I'm very green. The greenest."

"Yes, I can see that," says Victoria wryly. "God, I probably shouldn't do this with such a newbie. I assumed you had a decent amount of BDSM experience but I can see now that I was wrong."

James hasn't the foggiest idea what would make her assume he had _any_ amount of BDSM experience. He doesn't even know what all the letters stand for. He ventures into that sort of porn on occasion, but it's always a bit—well, _scary_ , with all the leather and the whips and whatnot. (Although, the image of Victoria in leather and wielding a whip is not one he can say he objects to.) The videos are never quite what he wants them to be and he always has to switch to something else before he can come, but—he supposes there must be _something_ about it that he finds appealing, somewhere deep down in his psyche.

"Girls generally tend to, uh, expect me to take charge?" he offers, by way of explanation.

"Goodness," says Victoria, seeming genuinely stunned by this. "I can't imagine why."

"Do you do the BDSM thing with David?" James blurts out before he can stop himself.

"That's none of your business," she says tartly. "Sit down."

He does so, automatically, on the edge of his bed, and she crosses her arms and appraises him thoughtfully.

"What do you like?" she asks eventually, and James is a bit stumped by that, because unless he's seriously misjudged this, they're about to have sex, and the question doesn't really make a lot of sense in that context. What's _not_ to like about sex? It's all pretty good, isn't it? "Oh god," says Victoria, sounding dismayed, "you don't even know what you like."

Belatedly, James realises that _obviously_ she means the kinky stuff. What sort of kinky stuff does he like. Right. Okay. 

"I like being tied up," he blurts out, because that's pretty much the only kinky thing he's ever done in his life. But he _did_ like it. A girlfriend tied him up once; knotted his own paisley tie around his wrists before she sucked him off. It was sort of a joke, really—she said the tie was so ugly that that was a better use for it than as a fashion accessory, and James came super hard and then they never spoke of it again because he was too embarrassed to admit how much he'd enjoyed it.

"Okay," says Victoria, brightening, "now we're getting somewhere. Do you have anything I can tie you up with?"

"...No," James admits reluctantly, and Victoria's face falls again. "It broke," he lies desperately. What do people use to tie each other up in a sexy way, when they're serious about it and know what they're doing? "My rope?" he guesses. "It wore out and I haven't bought any new stuff yet. You know, it's hard to find really _good_ rope, isn't it."

Victoria now looks so doubtful it's making James sort of panicky, like she might be a few seconds from packing it in. But then—"I'll send you some links to some websites," she suggests, soldiering on, thank _God_. "And for now, I suppose we must improvise."

She hikes up her dress, and James watches as she toes off her shoes and then proceeds to wriggle out of her tights, and it's not exactly graceful but somehow it's incredibly hot. Even hotter when he realises her knickers have come down with them. She untangles the two garments, tossing the knickers aside. James's gaze follows their trajectory.

"Take off your shirt," says Victoria, drawing his attention back to her. He feels his face go hot. 

"Okay," he says meekly. His fingers fumble with the buttons and it seems to take an absolute age to undo them all, and he can feel her watching him all the while, and it's making his heart beat alarmingly fast. Finally, he yanks it off.

"Oh, you _are_ a skinny thing," she says delightedly, and James goes hotter, wanting to dispute this but being unable to, due to the overwhelming amount of evidence in her favour. "Look at you, you're tiny." Now, this is rich coming from someone almost a foot shorter than him, but James still mysteriously finds himself mute. "Lie down in the middle of the bed."

James does as he's told, and Victoria settles beside him, lifts up his arms, crosses them at the wrists, and then expertly binds them to his headboard with her tights. She is very close and the knowledge that she's now naked under her dress is very distracting.

"The stretchiness isn't ideal, but they'll have to do," she says when she's done. "You've got very nice arms, by the way."

"I'm a drummer," says James, preening at the compliment. "Well, sort of."

"Mm," she says approvingly, and runs a hand over a bicep, which makes James go all shivery.

He tugs experimentally at the bindings and finds them much more secure than he was expecting—they're tight enough that, despite the elastic, he can't move his wrists more than a few centimetres, but not so tight that it's uncomfortable. He feels a lump in his throat and squirms a little.

"How does it feel?" she asks.

"Green," says James immediately, gazing up at her, and she laughs.

"All right, limits?" James stares at her cluelessly until she elaborates: "Anything you don't like?"

"No?" James guesses.

Victoria heaves a frustrated sigh and runs a hand back through her hair. She's so pretty. James keeps feeling his usual desperate urge to please her, but he's finding that he also rather likes the exasperated way she looks at him when he's getting on her nerves.

"Stop trying to give the correct answer, there's no correct answer," she says crossly. "This isn't a test, I don't want you to try and impress me. I want to know your limits. Genuinely."

"Sorry," says James immediately. "I—I haven't found any yet." Which is the truth, but it's not like he's actually _tried_ , so it feels like he's fudging it a bit.

"All right," says Victoria, looking sceptical. "How's your pain tolerance?"

James's heart leaps somewhere into the vicinity of his throat. "Why, how much are you going to hurt me?"

Victoria sighs again and looks like she's trying very hard not to get any angrier than she already is. It shouldn't be so attractive. "That's why I'm asking, you numpty," she says, "so I know how much I _can_."

James's heart feels like it starts fluttering around, which is making him feel a bit sick. He doesn't know if he really wants her to hurt him, but he can't deny how excited he feels at the thought, so, that probably means something. He doesn't know what to tell her, though. He's never really thought about his pain tolerance. That must mean it's high, right? "Pretty, uh, strong," he offers.

Victoria looks doubtful again, but decides against saying anything. "All right," she says after a moment of deliberation, "you're clearly the type that wants me to stop asking questions and just do as I please with you, so I'm just going to trust you to object if you don't like something."

"Right, yes, I'm definitely that type," says James quickly. "If I want you to stop I'll say maroon."

Victoria gives him a warning glare that makes him squirm again, but the next question out of her mouth is "Do you have condoms?" so he's clearly doing _something_ right.

Somehow, even though sex should've felt like a foregone conclusion the second they left the theatre, this question is thrilling. She's _actually going to have sex with him_. How is this happening?

"Bathroom cupboard," James says, and she hops off the bed and disappears for a moment, during which he contemplates just how helpless he feels in her absence. He's honestly not sure he'd be able to wrestle himself free if he had to, and that thought should be frightening, and it _is_ , but apparently it's also making him get very hard very fast. So there's that.

"Well, at least you have these," she says, padding back into the room with the box in her hands and climbing back onto the bed.

"I have learned," says James darkly, "from past experiences."

Victoria offers a smile at this, but it's a slightly puzzled one. "I mean, it wouldn't be the end of the world if you didn't, there are other ways to have sex," she says, which makes James feel very—silly, and young, somehow. "For example," she says, tossing the condom box aside, hitching up her dress, and straddling his face.

"Oh," says James, and then he can't say anything at all.

In fact, he completely freezes up for a second, because—because her _pussy_ is against his _mouth_ , and it's not like he's complaining, he's not—insane—but, he didn't exactly get a lot of warning. And he wants to be good, he _needs_ to be good, he's got to make her come so hard she sees stars— _galaxies_ even—

"I'm waiting," says Victoria, and her bored tone kicks James into action. He opens his mouth, which seems like a good start, and— _oh_ —tastes her, feeling her out with his tongue, and after a moment's panicky fumbling he finds her clit and she gives a tiny gasp, which is inordinately pleasing. He immediately starts licking it, quick and clumsy, eager to hear her make another sound.

"No, not like that," she says, and that's not exactly what James was hoping to hear, but somehow it's still exciting, because apparently _none of this makes any goddamn sense_. "Don't flick at it like that, just—slow, and a bit more pressure—"

 _Yes,_ thinks James, feeling himself relax slightly, _tell me what to do._ He presses his tongue more firmly against her, trying to follow her instructions, but he always feels out of his depth with this and everyone likes different things anyway so you can't really have, like, a foolproof technique—but Victoria lets out a little sigh, and reaches down to grip his hair, and that's reassuring. And also really hot. His erection is considerably uncomfortable now, trapped in his trousers, and he wishes she'd made him take those off too because they feel very tight all of a sudden. He's been so focused on what he's doing that he somehow almost forgot that he's tied up, and now he feels a sudden stab of anxious excitement as he realises that he can't use his hands so there's absolutely nothing he can do about his own discomfort.

He tries to shift that discomfort into the back of his mind, and finds it surprisingly easy. Pleasing Victoria immediately takes centre-stage. 

"Yeah, good," she says breathily, and James goes all melty at the praise, determinedly keeping at it, exerting a steady pressure against her clit, as well as what he hopes is a consistent rhythm. He told her he's a drummer so she's going to expect him to be good with rhythm, right? He can feel the pulse of her against his tongue, feel her getting wetter. She settles her weight on him more comfortably, and James feels properly trapped now and it's _incredible_. He can't do anything except work at her with his mouth, and that helpless feeling is the most heady mixture of scary and exciting. 

"Look at me," says Victoria then, "I want to look into your eyes."

James doesn't think he even fully realised that his eyes were closed, but now he opens them, and immediately feels twenty times more overwhelmed because she's looking down at him and she looks—powerful, somehow, and also very turned on, pink-cheeked and open-mouthed. The eye contact is almost too much; he doesn't know how it can feel too intimate when his mouth is where it currently is, but somehow it does. He feels absurdly _shy_ all of a sudden, and falters.

Victoria gives him a slight smile, and then starts to pull her dress up over her head, and James was already struggling to deal with the situation but now he's completely overcome, because there's suddenly a lot more bare skin that he desperately wants to touch and _can't_. He's not sure what's getting to him more; the sight of her body or the idea that he's forbidden from touching it. Victoria smirks at him like she knows exactly how he's feeling, and then unclasps her bra. _Fuck._

She tugs at his hair, subtly repositioning him, and starts to grind against him, like maybe he got too distracted and wasn't doing a good enough job so she needs to take over. Which: fair play, he's perfectly happy for her to just use him however she wants him. Then he realises that he doesn't really have a choice in the matter, anyway—or at least, it's very easy to pretend like he doesn't, because he can't fucking move and she's got her whole weight on him and she can pretty much do whatever she wants.

She steadies herself with her other hand on the headboard and starts to grind against his mouth in earnest, dragging herself over his tongue, back and forth, and all James can do is let her and he feels like—like a prop, a toy, and god, it's making his cock _ache_. He finds himself churning his own hips in search of some friction, the fly of his jeans rubbing slightly against his erection, and it's nowhere near enough but it's _something_ at least—but the moment he feels some relief he suddenly also feels guilt, for thinking about himself when he should be focusing on her. He stops squirming so that he won't screw up her rhythm, and fully succumbs to the helpless feeling. She's properly moaning now and it's gorgeous. James lets his eyes drift closed again, enjoying the sensation of her sliding hot and slick across his mouth, smearing his cheeks and his chin. He's not sure he can breathe properly like this but even that slightly frightening realisation brings a strange pleasure.

Suddenly she grabs a handful of his hair and pulls hard enough that it sends spikes of pain through his scalp, but he barely notices because her thighs are trembling on either side of his head and she's making this beautiful broken sound and coming against his tongue, all shakes and spasms. James finds himself mouthing at her desperately to bring her through it, unsure if he's helping but fiercely wanting to.

As soon as she's caught her breath she's climbing off him to let him recover, and she's a little unsteady as she settles beside him, but she looks remarkably composed otherwise. James is panting and his face feels so wet all around his mouth, and his instinct is to wipe it but he _can't_ and that's—he's just—he's _so hard_ and he needs to be _touched_. He makes a noise a bit like a whimper and Victoria looks amused as she runs a hand through her hair, which is starting to look a little sweaty around her temples. She looks angelic. She looks like a woman in a Botticelli painting. James isn't actually sure which one Botticelli is, but even so.

"Well, what you lack in skill you make up for with enthusiasm," she says. 

"Oh, I've heard that before," says James brightly, just glad she actually came, even if it was mostly her own doing.

"Yes, well," says Victoria tersely, "that's not actually something to brag about."

Then she's undressing him the rest of the way, which he supposes he should've mentally prepared himself for, but it's turning out to be impossible to mentally prepare himself for _anything_ where Victoria is concerned. The way she strips him is exhilarating, all brisk efficiency. Since she's already naked James doesn't think he should feel quite so shy once he's in the same state, but there's something about the way she's _looking_ at him, eyeing different parts of his body with curiosity and then approval, touching his skin like she's—admiring some fine fabric, or testing the ripeness of a piece of fruit, or. Something else similarly dehumanising, which he's quickly realising is apparently a thing for him, for some godforsaken reason.

She leaves his cock 'til last, of course, because she can see how desperate he is for her to touch it, but when she does, it's to slide a condom onto it, so James immediately goes all twitchy with anticipation.

"Stop wriggling about like that," scolds Victoria, lightly slapping at his thigh, so James makes himself as still as a statue.

She throws one leg over him and, slow but sure, lowers herself down—spreading herself with her fingers to ease his cock inside of her, and then tossing back her hair, a slow smile spreading across her face as she sinks down and feels it slide in deep. James feels the tight, slick heat of her and makes a very embarrassing noise that he somehow still manages to hate himself for even though this is fucking bliss. Victoria settles, adjusts to the feeling, and then she fixes him with a steely expression and starts to move. And it's—it's been a while for James, so that might be why this feels so disproportionately incredible, or maybe Victoria is magic. At the moment he's honestly not sure which it is.

Of course sex is always _good_ , and sometimes it's pretty damn great, but—there's always been a vague 'but' that James has never quite figured out. He always feels a bit like he's doing it for the first time, which is very stupid and embarrassing so he's never told anybody that. He just feels like he's _bad_ at it, like it doesn't come naturally, and that makes him feel like something's fundamentally wrong with him, because surely it's one of the most natural things in the world. But it's like there's always something missing, somehow, this thing that everybody else seems able to find but he can't.

Just occasionally he has this sense that, whatever it is, it's within reach. And right now it's tantalisingly close, like a hazy memory or a forgotten word on the tip of your tongue. Victoria plants her hands on his chest and digs in her nails, and James jolts at the unexpected sensation. His brain takes a second to register it as pain, because it's so altered by the simultaneous sweet, hot pulse around his cock that it's almost unrecognisable. When she scratches him lightly he lets out an accidental groan, and she flashes him a triumphant smile. It quickly vanishes and is replaced by a furrowed-brow focused look that is currently holding the title of the sexiest expression James has ever seen on anybody's face ever.

Sex tends to be better for James when the girl is on top, but that doesn't happen as often as he'd like, and he's always too shy to suggest it. He knows it's hardly _deviant_ , but he feels like he doesn't like it for the same reasons that other guys do. He likes it because he doesn't have to think so much; he can just let her do what she wants and he doesn't have to worry about making it good. But that seems—lazy? Or wrong, or—it just doesn't seem _normal_ , and that's always worried him, deep down. He understands that a lot of girls just aren't comfortable in that position, but _he's_ never exactly comfortable in any _other_ position so there's always something mildly unsatisfying going on. He knows girls sometimes get self-conscious, feeling like they're more on display, and it's not like James is going to judge anyone for having insecurities—he's got about a million of his own—but Victoria looks like she just doesn't care about any of that shit and it's kind of amazing. 

Because she's just—using him. She's holding him down and just using him for her own pleasure, as if she couldn't give a single fuck what he's thinking, or how it feels for him, as if he doesn't even _matter_. James thinks he might like not mattering. It means that he doesn't have to worry about what to do or how to do it, or silly things like where to put his hands (because he can't put them any-fucking-where, because they're _tied to the bedframe_ ). All he can do is lie there and take whatever she'll give him, and this might be a wild exaggeration but he doesn't think it is: nothing has ever felt so right in his entire life.

It feels like something inside of him is uncurling, like a cat does when it wakes up after a long nap, and all too quickly it's very awake and alert and making James sort of antsy.

"I'm going to slap you across the face now," says Victoria serenely, taking him by the jaw. "Is that okay?"

This is perhaps an alarming thing for her to say, but James just thinks, _what a bizarre question,_ because like, who's okay with being slapped across the face? He nods, though, because at this point he's too deep into this to start saying no to things he doesn't understand, and then she does it, and—oh. _James_ is. James is _very much_ okay with being slapped across the face.

He makes a stupid noise, something like "o-ho" but with some laughter mixed in, because even though she told him exactly what was going to happen, he's somehow still caught off guard.

"Colour?" she asks.

James wants her to do it again, because his cheek is tingling and his whole body feels—bright. Lit up, like he's glowing in the dark. So he says, "Grass. Frogs. Mint chocolate chip ice cream."

Victoria smirks slightly. "Don't be clever," she says, holding his jaw firmly and administering a second slap, harsh and brilliant. Even though he's literally tied down, James feels untethered, like he's fucking _floating_. She's still grinding against him, slow and steady, holding his body snug between her thighs and his cock deep inside her. It feels oddly soothing; perhaps it's just the simple pleasure of it contrasted with the sharp pain of her palm hitting his cheek, but James feels utterly dreamy.

She does it one more time, and all of James's nerves are singing like he's a tuning fork. "Oh, my god," he says, hushed and awed, having absolutely no idea what's happening and loving every second of it.

Victoria lets go of him then, which makes him pout a bit, but she does it in order to steady her hands where his neck meets his shoulders and starts riding him properly again, so he's quickly distracted. She hitches up her hips only to slam them back down in quick, shallow little movements, sending intense pleasure surging through James's body. She's leaning right down over him now, her hair a golden curtain tickling his face, her breathing erratic in his ears. Her hands slide closer to one another around his neck and rest there, exerting just the right amount of pressure on either side so that James can pretend like she's choking him, because he's basically already hyperventilating anyway and the press of her fingers against his throat is just hard enough to hurt.

Victoria straightens up slightly and takes one hand off him in order to reach between her legs, fingers slipping down beneath damp curls to touch her clit, and he stares, transfixed, as she fucks herself on him, rubbing at her clit with each heave of her hips. He has that feeling of Not Mattering again and it's dizzying. He also feels more like she's actually pinning him to the bed now, and he struggles a little just to fully appreciate the thrill of feeling stuck, the fabric rubbing against his wrists and Victoria's hand holding fast to his throat. 

Without warning she tenses up, clenching around him before shuddering all over and moaning deep and low. She's bearing down and putting more of her weight onto his neck as a result, perhaps unintentionally, and suddenly James is so close to his own orgasm that he feels woozy. Victoria is trembly and her hair is all in her face, and she's very pink and sort of shiny and _so beautiful_. James starts to say something, and he doesn't even know what it's going to be, really, he just feels this sudden urge to speak. Maybe he just wants to say her name, or acknowledge how incredible she is, but he only manages one broken syllable and then suddenly she's taking her hand off her throat in order to slam it over his mouth.

That small, simple action is what does it, what pushes him over the edge. There's something about the abrupt violence and the utter _disrespect_ of it that's so unexpected and so wonderful, and he's coming instantly, moaning against her sweaty palm, his back arching up off the bed as orgasm rockets through his body.

He loses himself in the dazzling ecstasy of it for a moment, his head spinning, and then he gradually becomes aware of his immediate surroundings once again. Victoria is perched beside him, removing the condom and looking absolutely wicked, and she's saying—

"You didn't ask permission, so I'm going to have to punish you."

If James was in full possession of his faculties, he could point out that he wasn't actually able to speak because she had her hand over his mouth, but his brain has snagged on the words 'ask permission'. All he can do is imagine what it would've been like if she'd made him say the words, "Please, Victoria, may I come?" and the mere _thought_ of that sends a flood of humiliation through him so devastating that he feels like he might simply disintegrate. And what if she'd said _no?_ Would he have been able to hold back? The idea of giving over control to such a degree makes him completely go to pieces. His face is burning hot and he's only halfway to even registering the word 'punish' when suddenly Victoria's hand is around his still-hard cock, curled brutally tight and twisting, and suddenly all of his emotional torment becomes physical in a single instant.

He yelps, loud and shrill, and writhes helplessly, his arms twisting in their bindings to no effect.

Victoria takes no notice and continues her abuse of his poor, tender cock, sending shockwaves of pain searing through him. He thrashes, kicking at the mattress, his legs flailing this way and that until Victoria calmly, and with surprising strength, leans on them.

"No—" James manages to gasp out weakly, "oh, Victoria—" he can barely form words, " _hurts_ —"

"Yes, that's rather the point," she says dryly, and her eyes are twinkling. "You know what to say to make me stop."

And James does, he _does_ know. He can see the colour clearly in his head, a bright light holding back traffic, and he could say it so easily, and the pain would be over, so why on earth isn't he speaking? It's absolute agony, but if it's what she thinks he deserves then he finds he wants to take it. He lets out a pitiful wail, and the only thing he can focus on besides the pain is the evil joy on Victoria's face. His eyes are prickling with tears, and his dick is _fucking burning_ , and then finally she relents, leaving only a distant pulsing ache.

James lies there in a daze as she crawls up to untangle the knot of polyester around his wrists, and then he's free, and it feels very weird, like—when you've been sitting on your leg and it's gone to sleep, sort of, except he's not _numb_ exactly. It's more like when you've been wearing the paper hat from your Christmas cracker for so long that when you take it off, it feels like it's still there. He knows that he _can_ move his wrists, but he can't quite bring himself to do it. Everything is blurry and dreamlike. 

"You're all right," says Victoria softly, so James believes her, and gingerly brings his arms down over his head. His wrists are a little pink, and his arms are pretty achy, but yes. He's all right. So he's not sure why his eyes are all wet. "Oh, James," comes Victoria's voice again. "You're a good boy, really, you just get overexcited."

This sounds a lot like something you'd say to a dog, which is another one of those things that should offend James but instead just makes him feel all tingly inside. She pets his hair, which only intensifies the feeling.

Then she says, "You _are_ all right, aren't you?" and for a moment he's not sure why she's asking, until he becomes aware of a weird sort of sobbing noise and slowly realises that it's coming from him.

"Oh—no, I'm good," he rasps, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "I'm actually _really_ —I just—I cry when I'm happy, sometimes." 

This isn't strictly true, but he does cry at heart-warming movies, and maybe that's sort of the same? He can't think properly. His brain feels like it's been rearranged. He feels like a glass of water that's been filled to the brim and then carelessly knocked over, only that sounds like a bad thing, and this doesn't feel bad, it just feels like...a lot.

"I understand," says Victoria warmly. Thank god one of them knows what's going on here. "It's a release."

"Yes. I think maybe I—" James is all choked up. He tries to sound less pathetic. "I mean I think I _really like_ —" He's struggling to find the words but it seems urgent that he does, for some reason.

Victoria finds them for him. "Submission," she supplies. "You really like submitting."

" _Yes_ ," says James, with a sigh that makes him feel like he's deflating, but pleasantly. 

Victoria looks at him with a strange, searching expression. "And you _honestly_ didn't know that already?" James shakes his head. "Well," she says, shrugging a shoulder. "I guess I can't say I didn't have my suspicions. I'm willing to take full credit for this revelation." 

James nods vaguely. "I think you deserve it." It's baffling to him that she can be so practical about something that, to him, seems utterly life-altering, but her attitude is reassuring too. It helps him feel less shaken up.

She pets his hair again and snuggles up beside him. "Can I get you anything? Water, tea?" Her mouth twitches into a smile and her eyes sparkle. "A Ploughman's? They're very comforting, you know."

James laughs, hoarse. "I have some sour snakes on the bedside table." He sniffles. "I would like some of those please."

"Sour snakes?!" exclaims Victoria. She leans away from him, rummaging for a second and then producing the half-empty packet. "Good lord, you're a child."

James ignores this comment in favour of eating some. The tangy sweetness is grounding somehow, and he chews happily, feeling like everything is beginning to return to normal. Or, as normal as it can be, while he's lying naked on his bed beside an equally-naked Victoria Coren Mitchell. 

"Eating sour sweets is a form of masochism in itself, you know," says Victoria disdainfully.

"Oh, you are in no position to judge other people's food preferences."

"Don't start."

They laugh, and it's—nice. It's almost comfortable? Which is very strange, but James is happy about it, so he tries not to question it too much. He feels a bit like he's just run a marathon. Not that he knows what that's actually like, but he's exhausted down to his bones and he aches all over, and yet he feels this overpowering euphoria and a strange sense of victory.

"Can we do this again?" he asks.

"Hmm. I don't like to play with the same boy twice; it can complicate things." Abruptly, James remembers that David exists. He wonders if Victoria will report back to him about their night together, and squirms involuntarily. Victoria eyes him. "Perhaps I could make an exception. You seem like a fast learner, and that's promising."

"Yes, I was good, wasn't I?" says James proudly, because, well, he thinks he _was_. He doesn't know if BDSM can be a skill, exactly, but he definitely feels like he's taken to it, like a duck to water. He doesn't feel that way about many things.

Victoria smiles and her eyes go all crinkly. "You certainly coped well, for a beginner," she says, and James will take that. "But," she adds gently, "you do realise I went very easy on you because I suspected you had no idea what was going on."

James curls against her, pops another sour snake into his mouth, and wonders whether, if he asks nicely, she might go harder on him next time. After all, now he's had some practice.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Double Whammy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18958237) by [horselizard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/horselizard/pseuds/horselizard)




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